How Sammy Got His Groove Back
by morning.chickenhead
Summary: Lately it feels like something is missing from Sam's life. And he just can't figure out how to get it back. Can Dean and Bobby help him? Rated T for some language.
1. Dude, where's my life?

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. **

**Author's Note: Please excuse the format of this story. It is merely to contribute to comic effect. Thanks! I'm still working on Firstborn - sorry it's taking me so long to update!**

**Dude, Where's My Life?**

Dean (entering motel room): Dude, where were you? I really could've used your help digging up the bones of that vengeful spirit.

Sam (groaning from his bed): Dude, I'm sorry. I just couldn't get out of bed this morning. I feel like there's . . . this _thing_ . . . and this thing is, you know, gnawing at my _soul_, man.

Dean: Dude, we've all got skeletons in our closets, but you can't let them keep you from going to work in the morning. Especially when your work deals with conquering the evil dead.

Sam (attempting to prop himself up): Dude, look. I couldn't help it. I've just this hold inside of me . . . and I'm just, like, wallowing in it. A piece of me is, like . . . _lost_, bro. (Flops back to a lying position.)

Dean: Dude, have you checked at the front desk? Maybe somebody turned it in. (Chuckles at his own feeble joke.)

Sam: Dude, I don't think you're getting the gravity of the situation. If I had gone with you, I probably would've just, like . . . lay down in the grave you dug, (tragically) and died.

Dean (crossing to the bed and putting his hand over his heart): Dude, I'm with you, and it hurts me too. (Sits.) That's how I felt after Dad . . . you know, kicked the bucket. You could do what I did.

Sam (unconvinced): Which was?

Dean: Beat savagely on your car. . . . Then again, you don't have a car. And I am _not_ letting you beat savagely on mine. (Dreamily.) She's been through enough. . . . Besides, you're more of a slow-dance/hug-and-make-up healing kinda guy. And/or the beheading-a-hunter-turned-vamp kinda guy. But look man, any way you flip it, you still gotta get out of bed to do it.

Sam (leaping up): Dude, you know what? You're right. We're hunters. So let's hunt the bitch down and get it back.


	2. Sacred Lunch

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural.**

**Sacred Lunch**

Dean: _O-kay!_ But . . . I'm hungry. So I'll go get us some pizzas, and we can talk about it while we –

Sam: I'm not hungry.

Dean: – while _I_ eat.

Sam: Great! While you're gone I'll have time to dick around on the Internet researching this strange affliction.

Dean: All right, see ya.

Sam (already has eyes glued to his laptop monitor): Yep.

_Later –_

Dean (stuffing half a pizza in his mouth): Tho, did-ju fine' anyfin' inderes-ding?

Sam: _Well. _I couldn't find much lore on wallowing holes. _But, _when I googled "soul-sickness," I found something _very_ interesting. _This._ (Swivels laptop to show Dean.)

Dean: Wow – that'th fow weal?!

Sam: Yeah. And not only does the lore reveal that souls can get sick just like bodies do, but also that when something _physical _goes missing from your life, there's _always_ a corresponding _spiritual_ loss in your soul. Your soul alters itself to reflect your physical form.

Dean: That'th geniuth. Tho if we fine' what'th mithing from your life, we'll fine' what'th mithing from your thoul?! Truwy amaything!

Sam (grabbing jacket and scythe): Let's go.

Dean (swallows): Wait. Are you sure you need that thing? (Nods to the scythe.) We're not planning on killing anything.

Sam: Er . . . oh yeah. I got confused from when you said beheading something might help. (Tosses it on bed. Affectionately, to scythe:) I'll deal with _you_ later.

Dean (to scythe): Don't touch my pizza.


	3. Body of Tries

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural.**

**Body of Tries**

Dean (as they're speeding down a secondary highway): This thing that's missing . . . maybe it's something from your body?

Sam: Yeah, I was thinking maybe it was those toenail clippings from last week when we were in Plainview, Texas. But I don't miss them all that much.

Dean: You missed them last night when you stubbed your pinky toe on that book that fell off the nightstand.

Sam: Dean, it was _The Bible._

Dean: Oh. Right. So should we head for Texas?

Sam: Hm, let's not. I don't think something that's gone missing would be in Plainview.

Dean: Okay, well maybe we're not thinking about this in the right way. Could it be, like, the life you wish you had? Law school and all that shit?

Sam: I was wondering about that too. But it seems even more essential to the very core of my being than merely the life path I've chosen.

Dean: Well, what about Dad? That's what it was for me.

Sam: Again, I wish I could say yes. But I think the hole in my soul would've settled in a little earlier than years after his passing.

Dean: Did you see if Dad's book says anything about this?

Sam: Yes. And it's strangely silent on the matter.

Dean: Then there's only one thing left for us to do.

Sam: What?

Dean: Go talk to Bobby.

(At Bobby's name, blinding light pours through the windows and suddenly the car disappears from the road.)


	4. Gone Yesterday, Here Today

**Gone Yesterday, Here Today**

(At Bobby's. Sam and Dean are standing outside the car. Bobby is walking toward them.)

Sam: How'd we get here so fast?

Dean: I'm not sure. . . . Why is your hair standing on end?

Sam (patting his head): Weird . . . well, I'm glad we're here. This is one only Bobby can help on.

Bobby: It's great to see you boys. I don't think I've seen you since yesterday when you needed me to tell you how to salt-and-burn the bones of a vengeful spirit.

Dean (nervous laugh): We just don't want you to get lonely . . . out here all by yourself all the time and all. . . .

Bobby (adjusting his hat): So what can I do for you boys?

(Sam, choking back tears, explains the problem.)

Sam: And now we can't even figure out what's missing from my life.

Bobby (clearing his throat): Well that's easy. You've been missing your bangs for 1.5 seasons.

Sam: What?!

Dean: Dude, it's true. You've been disappointing the fans.

Sam (bewildered): _What_ fans?

Dean: _Ssh!_ They'll hear you! The _fans_, who gave you _ratings_, which give you a job, which _should_ give you a goddamned reason to get out of bed in the morning!

Sam (checking his reflection in a cracked rear-view mirror of a nearby convertible): They _were_ rather becoming, weren't they. _And_ they kept the sun off my face! (His face clouds over.) But how do I get them back? It was Jess that always cut my hair before.

Dean (rolling his eyes): I'll see what I can do.

_Later –_

Dean: So what do you think?

Bobby: Why, I don't think you've ever looked handsomer a day in your life, dangnabit!

Dean (proudly): _Prettier,_ even.

Bobby (sniffs): It makes me want to ask you to the school dance.

Sam (tearing up): Thanks, guys. Can we have a group hug now, please? (Dean and Bobby move in for the hug, chins quivering.) I love you all!

Dean: We love you too, Sammy.

Sam: Dude. I was talking to my bangs.


End file.
